


Isle of Misfits

by Lunar_Bella



Category: Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer
Genre: Human Rudolph, I came up with this in theatre class
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 09:40:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13187412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunar_Bella/pseuds/Lunar_Bella
Summary: So essentially Rudolph is a human always has been, going to a new school around Christmas time. The saddest part about this is that it is entirely/mostly serious and I put a lot of thought into this. Also very inspired by the fantastic movie Perks of being a Wallflower





	Isle of Misfits

Frost started lingering longer in the mornings and the snow started to stick through the day. Thanksgiving break has come and passed and Christmas is just around the corner. After three weeks at North District High School, one would assume that I might have at least made an acquaintance- as long as that one was anyone other than me. No, I was grabbing my lunch and heading to the computer lab to play games by myself and possibly get caught up on an anime. Instead, tray in one hand, phone in the other, and one foot out the door, my phone arm scrapes against someone enough that I know I couldn’t get away without being noticed. I knew I was in trouble when the sound of papers scattering and books clattering to the ground. I pulled my earbuds from my ears, already dropping to my knees and setting my tray on the floor. 

“I am so sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was looking-” that’s not right. Crud. “Going. I mean I wasn’t going where I was looking-” that isn’t it either. Come on Rudy… I opened my mouth to try once more, maybe even getting it right this time when the girl I collided with spoke. 

“Don’t worry about it. Happens twice a day.” I looked up at the girl because the tone in her voice made it seem either like she was about to cry or as if she had been for the last hour. Looking into her eyes did nothing to determine which it was. I took the opportunity to inspect her a moment, glancing over the brightly colored hair, Christmas themed attire, and her short and narrow stature. Then back to collecting her papers and books before they got trampled on I went. The faintest of awareness of her bending down reached my brain, but it didn’t seem like valuable information until I looked up once again to slide the books into her hands. 

When our eyes locked again there was a hint of recognition deep in her hazel gaze. “You’re the new kid, right? I never see you with anyone, why is that?” Her question seemed innocent enough, and with the trouble I had caused her already I owe her an answer. Or something close to one. Besides, she looks like crying again.

I’ve met a couple people since I moved here. I see them after school sometimes but I don’t have any classes with them this semester. That’s what was supposed to come out of my mouth. That is not at all what I said though. There was something in her eyes that drew the truth from inside of me, no matter how embarrassing it seemed to be the only kid in existence that couldn’t make a single friend. “I don’t have any friends...yet.” The last word trailed after his sentence as if a desperate after thought. I couldn’t look at her anymore, instead reaching out for the last of the papers to hand over, then grabbing at my tray where my cell phone sat playing music still. Then there was the tiniest sound that drew my eyes back to her face, though I couldn’t fully keep her gaze. 

“That’s so sad,” she whimpered and tears had sprung anew in those luring orbs. The startled expression that twisted my face barely had time to change before she was demanding he come sit with her and her friends in a too fast speaking pattern through a quiver in her tone. A response couldn’t formulate in my head fast enough for my mouth to form the words ‘no thank you’ or ‘I actually have to be somewhere’ or any of the other typical excuses I would give before my free wrist was in her hand and we were heading towards the back of the room. 

As a force of habit I took in all the tables on our immediate left and right as she led us down the center of the room. In total there were thirty round tables that had ten seats at each through the entire room. This is, from what I have heard, the smallest lunch period throughout the 3 period span lunches had. We passed ten tables in total. 

Two were empty, which seemed too well placed next to each other to be anything short of intentional. The first three we passed, the ones closest to the double doors in the front of the room, were filled with jocks. The two front tables consisted only of starters for the respective teams they belonged to. The table just behind them were all the athletes that had been rejected that privilege. They all flocked together, but even with the sense of unity there was among their visual there was a definite difference between the two groups. The next two were the empty ones. No one dared get close to the clear rulers of the cafeteria- the cheerleaders and jocks that would claim to rule the school. They were either scared of rejection by verbal counts or rejection by physical counts. 

Then, on the left was a table half filled with people that all had long hair and baggy clothes. They looked like the punks that walked out of the 90’s. The other half of the table was filled with snack food. Nothing truly substantial; chips, cookies, crackers, gummy bears. Hidden in some of the chip bags were homemade brownies that didn’t look normal. At least they had the vaguest sense of intelligence to attempt to hide it. They all looked like typical stoners, which was easily assisted by the smell surrounding the group and the happy daze they all seemed permanently in.

On the right of them then their equal opposite. The crowd of people dressed entirely in black with neon or dark accents. There were mostly long sleeves, fishnets, and dyed black hair. I’d heard more than one conversation about vegetarianism v.s veganism- which was better for the environment. A few about if the local tattooists would cover self harm marks- at one point I heard a kid say that they would have to be old and not a day old, at which point I went to the counseling office and just reported a concern towards the people at the table. 

The next table behind them contained a DnD campaign that consisted mostly of people chanting for a new dungeon master. The DM was clearly yelling to regain order and explaining that a shift in power would mean starting over and with all the progress they had made the point would me mute. The argument made me roll my eyes. 

The table across the aisle from them was a strange assortment I had yet to figure out yet. Some people came and went and there was such a diversity in their personality and mannerisms that there was no specific name that I could give them. One day they would be shooting back and forth politically incorrect jokes, the next they would be discussing politics, and the next they’d be arguing over whether Marvel or DC had the better characters. I’d heard a rumour that at least three of them had been institutionalized at one point or another and that one of them has killed a man. Rumours, of course, that were likely blown out of proportion. They seemed normal enough to me. 

We didn’t stop there. The final table in the back of the room had been moved even farther back, separated from the rest. There was only two other people at the table for the time being, though I had never noticed this table enough to know if there was anyone missing. Finally my arm was released and I was able to stabilize my tray again. The girl who drug me over plopped in one seat and heavily leaned against a male that seemed considerably taller than her with a completely different energy. 

“Herm,” she whined loudly as if her heart had been shattered. “This new kid doesn’t have any friends!” She had actual tears running down her face and once again I couldn’t help but to feel like the cause of the disturbance in her emotions. 

“You can’t bring home a lost puppy just because you got dumped again, T,” stated the boy with oddly feminine features. His blonde hair curled out beneath his pink and blue hat and there’s a strange assortment of buttons on his jacket- most of which I couldn’t read with the girl on him. She whimpered and pouted again.

“That’s not what’s bothering me today!” Her tone showed a hint of injustice, but there seemed to be something ingenuine about her sorrows. Not the emotion, rather the explanation she did give of. “Captain Bubble died!” 

Before I could interject or introduce myself another voice piped up besides me. “S-so who are y-you?” My gaze shifted quickly to a girl with naturally bright red hair and the rosiest cheeks I’ve ever seen in my life. Her appearance was overall appealing, but her presence was so meek that I had almost failed to notice her entirely. Freckles dotted across her face like the stars in the night sky.

“I’d like to know too,” came a rather strong female voice from behind me. My entire back went rigid and the urge to duck and curl into a ball clawed its way up my throat and came out of my mouth in the most unmanly way I could imagine. I did a one eighty degree turn to face the girl only to be frozen in place as I was met with steel grey eyes, short brown hair with a black hat atop her head. She was very apocalypse chiche with torn camo skinny jeans, a fishnet sleeve shirt under a short sleeve crop top that definitely went against school dress code, and big combat boots. As if she needed to seem more intimidating, the dark makeup on her pale skin around her eyes made her seem almost demonic.

“My name is Rudy… Rudy Dreer. There’s been a mix-up here. I was heading to the com-” 

My soul felt almost entirely on view to her. It was as if she already knew everything that was about to come out of my mouth and everything that ever has. “Déesse,” I mumbled under my breath, eyes wide and likely rather fearful all things considered. 

“Claire, he doesn't have any friends! Can we keep him? Pleeeease?” The brunette looked behind me at the girl who sounded like crying still. 

“ Trainwreck, we’ve talked about this.” There was some sniffling before the steeley and blank expression softened and she sighed. “Fine. But only because it’s Christmas season and I’m feeling nice.” 

“Well ho-ho-holy crap, Ace. You’re never nice to anybody,” stated Herm, a jingle of laughter in his voice. I watched him hug the girl- Trainwreck?- a bit tighter before she slipped out of his grasp and into her own seat. 

“I suppose some basic introductions are in order,” Claire said, recapturing my attention as she slipped gracefully passed me and into the seat at the opposite end of the table. Her boots got slung up on top of the table and her arms were crossed over her chest with no cares in the world. Despite having brought up the notion she made no effort to actually share anything at all. Herm cleared his throat and I was forced to pull my eyes over to him. 

“Name’s Herm. Less gender specific than my real name,” he said as he stood to shake my hand. It took a moment for me to reach over and take his outstretched hand. Half of what he said was lost on me, but I pretended that I understood. Next the girl besides him spoke, sniffling and pouting. 

“I’m Tracy. They call me Trainwreck, though.” She also extended her hand, meek and shaking, her other arm wrapped in front of her as if trying to protect something. I took her hand gently to accommodate her shaking grip. I gave a nod and then looked to the other girl on my right. She seemed uncomfortable with my gaze, so I looked away but listened to her introduction. 

“I-I’m Grace. Y-you c-can call me Dolly.” Her hand stayed in her lap so I just nodded at her. Now I looked to Claire with interest, despite already having learned her name. She gave a sigh and sat up. 

“I’m Claire. Most people call me Ace. Now are you gonna sit down or just stand there like you’ve got a stick up your-” 

“Woah Ace. Let’s not be so aggressive to the new guy alright?” Herm interrupted. I plopped down in the seat across from Claire, shifting uncomfortably under her intense gaze. Even as I looked down at my tray and tried to eat my food, her eyes were boring into my flesh, beating into me like a bullet. 

The rest of the period was spent being surrounded by chit chat that was mostly directed towards me. I learned that Herm is genderfluid and wants to be an orthopedist when they get older. Tracy has PTSD that her parents haven’t treated in two years- what her trauma was I wouldn’t ask and no one said. Grace was quiet, but I did pick out that she’s got extreme anxiety issues of some variety. I also learned that a person or two were missing from the usual gang of people. Claire had her headphones in and barely spoke the entire period, not listening or speaking the entire time. I wasn’t much help to the conversation either, but she seemed downright scary and honestly pissed off. 

When the bell finally rang I nearly bolted from the room like a deer finally freed from the headlights it was confined in. After dropping off my tray and gettingout passed the double doors I let out a sigh, taking a few moments to mentally collect myself before heading to my next class. 

If lunch had seemed bad, Chemistry was much worse. We were divided into partners and I managed to be crammed in as of the group of threes, rather than being allowed to work independently. I’ve had enough time to know that my partners were likely the dumbest kids ever to be in an honors class and that I would end up doing all the work anyway. I sighed in frustration as we were set to work in our groups for the period- meaning that havoc would reign for the next thirty five minutes and a headache was sure to become my new best friend. Halfway through the class as the two numbnuts were bickering and I was actually working, they seemed to divulge their attention solely on me. 

“Hey, you’re the poor guy that got dragged to that one table during lunch. I was wondering why you all of a sudden seemed important to me,” said one of the letterman jackets with a snicker. My hand tensed up around my pencil but I kept writing, pretending I didn’t know he was talking to me. This seemed to piss off his buddy enough that he snatched at my paper that he was going to end up copying off of anyway. 

“Yo, bud. Someone was talking to you,” growled Moron #2. Clearly he was the more subservient of the pair, which did nothing to ease the fear of his muscle and status. I looked up to meet the eyes of Moron #1. 

“Yes, I went to sit with a group of people which is abnormal for me. No I did not chose to do so. No I don’t care to elaborate on the topic. And yes, I want to get this project done, so if you want a decent grade I suggest you give me back the paper so I can finish it. Otherwise I can go tell the teacher that I prefer to work alone and that you two aren’t working at all and you can fail together.” My eyes narrowed in on hazel that was barely covered by dusty blonde hair and surrounded by tan skin. Those same eyes mirrored mine until eventually softening and sliding the sheets back my way. 

“You get us less than a B and you’re dead nerd.” I simply nodded and plugged in my headphones to ignore them the rest of the class. They kept talking and occasionally glancing over at me with wickedness I wanted to pretend didn’t mean I was getting beat up at some point in the near future. The bell rang and I packed up my supplies, thankful that today was at least just the prelab, and head for my last classes of the day. 

To say the remainder of the day made anything better would have been lovely, however much of a lie. To say it got worse would also be a lie. Thankfully it went by in a numb sort of blandness that gave me an opportunity to just float on and not have to think about anything major. The bus ride home was crowded and loud, but people thought of me as less than approachable enough to grant me the only seat with a single occupant. Getting off the warm bus welcomed the nip of Jack Frost as I made my way down the street and down a hill until I made it to the street where I lived. 

The walk was a nuisance, but it was better than having anyone know where I live. My street comprises of a single gated community and all of the kids that live here are major tools that go to private schools. I waved to Mr. Nick as he buzzed open the gate and he gave me a generous smile as I slipped passed and continued down the road. I trudged up my driveway and into the house without a word, greeted by the smell of vanilla and cinnamon. The maid must have been in while I was at school. I do my best to keep the place tidy so Clarissa never has to do anything major, but she had a tendency to make cookies if she had the spare time. I walked into the kitchen with full intent on grabbing one of her popular snickerdoodles, stopping short when I heard a masculine voice from the top of the stairs. A grumble of a sigh drifted from my throat and I finished my trek into the kitchen. 

“Hey Dad,” I called to him. He held up a hand as he carried on the conversation he was having into his stupid bluetooth earpiece. He continued to type on his computer while getting increasingly upset with whoever was on the other end of the line. I lifted a cookie to my mouth to munch on while I watched him argue. 

“Is that Log-” 

“God damn it Logan! I don’t care how it gets done-” With that my question was answered. Logan Comeski is one of the few people my dad still keeps in touch with that isn’t solely work related, though work is a major bonus in Dads books. They went to highschool together and opened a business together. They’ve been working on expanding which meant a lot of moving around. Now they’ve settled in the final location, which means I’m here to stay. Whether or not that’s a good thing has yet to be determined thus far, but things are not looking up. 

“Hey Dad. The school lit on fire today,” I told him, a complete lie but I said it casually enough that it went ignored as usual. I grabbed a couple cookies from the counter and went up to my room where I would eventually sink into a void-like mindset of focusing on literally nothing while also somehow being productive. I dropped my bag on the bed and plopped next to it, halfway through my cookie when I stopped. My eyes caught the picture on my nightstand and I couldn’t help but to pick it up after the stress of the day. I smiled at the image of a woman standing with her son on Christmas day, him wearing a clown nose and both of them wearing antlers. He was maybe eight when this picture was taken, and there was maybe six months before her diagnosis. 

I plopped back on the bed, picture held high as I thought back to that day so long ago. We baked cookies and went door to door delivering small batches to all of our neighbors, collecting canned goods along the way to donate to the local food bank. The next day we would go through and clear out all of the clothes that didn’t fit me anymore and donate those too. Once we dropped all of the stuff off we’d go and work the soup kitchens and Mom would sing to everyone while we worked. She had the loveliest voice. We did it every year up until I was ten years old. Then it was just me and Dad. 

“I’m trying mom. I am.”


End file.
